


Tea with the King

by Hijja



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coercion, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Non Consensual, Punishment, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-06
Updated: 2011-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hijja/pseuds/Hijja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And now, Mr Potter, you will tell me <i>exactly</i> what you did to my son."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea with the King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lavillanueva](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lavillanueva).



> Written for Lavillanueva in harry_holidays 2008, with many thanks to Melusinahp, Oddnari and Thea for beta and concrit! No, I have no clue where the title came from either.

**Warnings:** dub-to-noncon, coercion

_________________________________________________

The mirror catches the small figure as soon as it snaps into existence, even before it triggers the Apparition Wards that surround the Manor.

Walking up the winding path through the gardens with slow, hesitant steps as if he would rather be anywhere else, the intruder slowly reveals a familiar form, then an even more familiar face.

By the time Harry Potter has passed the empty peacock enclosure and reached the main stairs, his face has acquired the expression of a storm cloud.

Oh, he tries to disguise it as mere impatience, but anger is evident in the white-knuckled clutch that holds the wooden box in his left hand. It is made of dark, expensive wood, the sort Ollivander used to sell. Maybe he actually got it there, the old man's retirement notwithstanding; he's Potter, the Saviour, after all. Ollivander's personal saviour, even.

There is no house-elf left to open the door; they've all been sent to the House-Elf Relocation Office. It's unlikely that Potter would notice, but his face does scrunch up in surprise when one half of the portal swings open. The wooden box, already thrust forward, freezes in his hand.

"You?"

"Why, Mr Potter," replies Lucius Malfoy, "if you're coming to visit my home, you might have reason to expect to see me."

They make a study in contrasts – Lucius with his bright hair unbraided although it's after noon, in a house robe in shades of brown and cream; Potter, clothed in plain black that looks as if it's been picked because it resembles Hogwarts school robes, instead of wearing the Auror scarlet that even a trainee is entitled to.

"I didn't come to see-" Potter stops, stares. "You sent it back!" He shakes the box as if emphasis was necessary. "Why-"

"I do not expect you to be familiar with wizarding etiquette, Mr Potter," Lucius brushes him off, "but a wand is a wizard's most treasured possession. Not-" he looks down at the flustered young man and his left nostril flares delicately. "Not something you mail off tied to an owl's leg like a tattered Howler."

Potter runs a hand through his messy hair. Obviously, not even the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has succeeded in bullying him into a proper cut.

"I talked to Draco-" he huffs, only to have Lucius cut him off again.

"Yes, I am aware of that."

Potter flushes and proffers the box. Lucius makes no move to take it, but holds the door open instead. "I would rather discuss this matter in a civilised way over a cup of tea. If you would care to join me?"

There has probably never been an invitation that was so much command, and predictably, Potter bristles. His expressive mouth turns down at the corners.

"Sorry, Mr Malfoy, but the last time I was here, your hospitality didn't impress me much."

"I am aware of that." Lucius doesn't sound contrite, but his voice softens – a little. "Nevertheless, I'd rather not talk on the doorstep."

Potter looks over his shoulder at the gardens sprawling out around the Manor, one eyebrow raised as if to indicate that he can't see any nosy neighbour hanging over the non-existent garden fence. But then he relents and takes the expected step across the threshold.

The fool.

He looks anything but at ease as he allows Lucius to guide him through the main hall, scrutinising the few remaining portraits of Malfoy ancestors as if their inhabitants might jump him at any moment. If Lucius notices, his impassive face gives away no sign of amusement. At the end of the corridor, he ushers Potter into the smaller downstairs breakfast room. There is a tea tray on the side table, complete with a steaming pot, cups, sandwiches and biscuits.

Potter isn't likely to notice the plain Muggle china any more than the absence of house-elves. The wizarding tea sets, even Narcissa's favourite with the leaping unicorn décor, have been carried away by the Ministry as 'reparations for rebuilding'. Undoubtedly, they now grace the table of some Ministry official or Wizengamot member, snatched with a quick bid well below their value.

No – Potter won't think about that either. He takes the chair Lucius pulls back for him after a second's hesitation, looking utterly out of place like a worn child's marble on a string of pearls. He places the box on the round table right beside his hand.

Lucius pours the tea himself; Potter stares at the fragrant, caramel-coloured liquid in his cup and, after Lucius has filled his own, draws his wand from its belt sheath and performs a standard-level poison scan. The tea steams on harmlessly, and Lucius's expression never wavers. He lifts his cup, little finger politely stretched out, and takes a sip.

"I am aware of your… negotiations with my son regarding the return of his wand," he starts.

In the process of sipping, Potter looks as if he's about to drop the delicate cup and swallows down much more of the hot brew than intended. Tears form in his eyes as he gulps.

"You are?"

"Indeed." Lucius toys with his sugar spoon. "Draco told me how he approached you…"

"He did?" Potter's voice dies in a croak and he takes another hearty sip to oil his vocal cords.

"Why shouldn't he?" Lucius leans back while Potter swallows convulsively, and spreads one long-fingered hand on the tablecloth. "Perhaps because of the sordid nature of your bargain?"

Potter's head shoots up. "He told you about that?" he splutters.

"I have proof now." The sharp twitch at the corner of Lucius's mouth doesn't convey any warmth. "What I cannot understand is that you thought you would be allowed to get away with it."

Lucius's wand appears in his hand. His " _Expelliarmus!_ " blasts Potter backwards along with his chair, which breaks into rattan splinters when it crashes under Potter's weight. His teacup shatters on the floor in a puddle of dark liquid.

Lucius is on his feet in a heartbeat; a quick " _Accio!_ ", and Potter's wand soars into his hand. Somehow, he manages to Vanish the box from the table before Potter dazedly climbs back to his feet. Only to stare at the tip of his own wand pointing at him.

Lucius slices a smile thinner than a razor blade. "And now, Mr Potter, you will tell me _exactly_ what you did to my son."

"I fucked him," Potter blurts out, only to smack his hand over his mouth in horror.

"I know." If at all possible, Lucius's smile turns even sharper. "You don't quite live up to your reputation as an up-and-coming Auror, Mr Potter. Nor to that of a sudden potions genius. Veritaserum, you see, isn't classified among poisons."

Potter's cheeks turn ashen, as if he fears the truth more than Lucius's wand. His fingers clench and he takes a step forward, only to find himself thrown back and pinned against the wall by a wave of wandless magic. For a second he looks confused, strangely vulnerable, then awareness pours back into his face.

Lucius tosses Potter's wand into a corner as if it were a mere worthless twig, and steps up so close that he almost touches Potter's front. "Tell me what happened," he insists without mercy.

"He… owled me," Potter grinds out. "We met up at the Enchanted Cauldron in Skark Row. He…" Potter stops and wets his dry lips. "He offered to… to have sex with me, in exchange for me returning his wand."

"I see," Lucius replies, almost kindly. "And what, Mr Potter, made you think you were within your rights to exploit Draco's vulnerability like that?"

Even bound and spelled to the wall, Potter cringes.

"I was… curious," he whispers, pained reluctance audible in every drawn-out syllable. "I'd just got engaged and I n-never… I wanted… I'd never even thought about a boy that way… and then he _offered_."

"Ah…" Lucius's lips twist, thin and expressive. "And against every rule of Auror conduct and Gryffindor honour, you… took."

"He dared me," Potter babbles. "I knew he'd mock me if I walked away and…" He shakes his head wildly as if to dispel the words that surge onto his tongue. "He made me angry… made me _want_ him."

"Did it ever occur to you that he owed you a life debt, Potter?" Lucius snaps. "He'd do whatever it took to repay it instead of having it hang over him for the rest of his life, like Snape. Draco sacrificed his pride and Malfoy honour for you, and you despoiled him!"

Potter recoils; his eyes widen in a way that suggests the issue of a life debt has never entered his blinkered little head. "You're not… you aren't going to hurt him, are you?"

Lucius laughs harshly. "Because he let you fuck him? Isn't it a bit late for concern on your part, Potter? Why would you care if I punished him?" Potter bites his lip, and resorts to silence. "No," Lucius answers his own question. "I'm not going to hurt him – I'm going to hurt _you_ ".

The binding spell vanishes so abruptly that Potter crashes to his knees before his leg muscles can hope to catch up. He winces, looks up to find Lucius's wand trained at his forehead. And freezes.

"No, don't get up…" The wand tip digs into Potter's cheek. "You made my son kneel to you too, didn't you?"

Potter's face floods with heat. "I… yes."

"To take off his clothes?"

Again, Potter nods.

"Did you enjoy it?"

If anything, Potter flushes even deeper. "Yes," he croaks. "He's quite beautiful if he keeps his mouth shut."

Lucius's lip twitches again, though whether with rage or a glimmer of amusement is impossible to say. Potter squeezes his eyes shut in expectance of a curse.

The wand sparks, but instead of flying at him in screaming rage, magic dances over Potter's body, leaving him shivering bare-arsed on the ground with an unflattering fish-mouthed gape. His robes and clothes rain down on the chair by the door.

"You'll forgive me for skipping the manual undressing, won't you, Potter?" Lucius drawls, tracing Potter's collarbone with his wand tip. Below, Potter's exposed nipples tighten into nervous knots. "Because I find myself less impressed with your scrawny charms than you were with Draco's."

A ghost echo of hurt flits across Potter's face before he manages to control his expression. Which is, in all likelihood, the purpose behind Lucius's scorn. After all, Potter, naked, isn't a painful sight, even if he has rather knobbly knees.

"Well," Lucius continues, idly studying his wand, "I believe that there is a saying among the Muggles you were brought up among… 'Don't do unto others what you don't want done to yourself?" He draws his wand down Potter's chest. "Let's reinforce that lesson, shall we?"

A quick " _Incarcerous!_ " binds Potter's wrists behind his back with a length of bright turquoise cord. It sneaks up to wrap loosely around his throat, knots itself, and leaves the spare ends to trickle down Potter's chest like a braided tie. The vibrant colour looks very attractive against his pale skin and dark hair.

"Well, Potter," Lucius inquires while admiring his handiwork, "you had my son there on his knees, naked – what happened next?"

Potter's head lowers and he bites his lip against the compulsion of the Veritaserum – in vain. "I… I told him to suck me off."

"Ah…" With a move that is no less elegant for being wholly predictable, Lucius opens his robe and smoothes both ends back from his front. Underneath, he wears only thin, loose lace-up trousers, and a shirt to match. "Suck me off, then."

Potter ducks his head even lower until the wand tip touches his temple and starts to glow. A shudder of pain runs through him, and forces him to look up at last. He glares at Lucius as if waiting for him to undo his trousers.

Lucius meets his eyes with a razor-sharp smirk. "You'll manage, Potter."

The Veritaserum doesn't control Potter's mind like Imperius, not quite. But it makes the victim pliable, vulnerable to suggestions and commands as well as questions. Especially if said victim feels that he _deserves_ what is suggested to him. A former Death Eater like Lucius would know just how to go about it.

If anything, Potter makes a clumsy mess of things. His teeth grapple with the bow that ties Lucius's trousers at the waist, pulling it open in a move that looks a lot like a crow dragging a very long worm from the soil. That achieved, he nuzzles at Lucius's crotch like a pup searching for the teat, trying to pull the laces free. Apart from one flash of teeth that earns Potter a rap to the head, his efforts seem to feel pretty good, judging from Lucius's pleased expression.

There are wet patches of saliva on the front of Lucius's trousers when Potter finally manages to disentangle the laces, and when he pulls them aside, Lucius's prick all but smacks him in the eye. He starts to draw back, but Lucius's warning growl stops him. Resigned, Potter presses his lips to the straining flesh, then his tongue.

After suffering a few sloppy licks, Lucius gives the cord around Potter's neck an abrupt tug. Potter's head jerks up, while Lucius's prick presses expectantly against his cheek.

"I sincerely hope my son did not display the same level of ineptitude," Lucius sneers. "Now – suck!"

Face ruddy with mortification, Potter recaptures the prick and starts to suck at the tip, miserably and without a shred of technique. After a moment, Lucius just sinks his fist into the wild black hair, overcoming Potter's stiff-necked resistance to move him where he wants him. He shoves forward and holds Potter's head in place to thrust deeply.

Nervous sweat beads on Potter's shoulder blades as he gags his way through what is most likely the first blowjob of his life on the servicing end. His jaw and throat muscles work frantically, standing out against his sweaty skin.

Lucius uses him without compassion, plunging himself deep into Potter's throat without regard for the helpless groans he elicits. Finally, he grabs Potter's hair with both hands and twists his hips forward. Potter ineffectually struggles against the iron grip, but has no choice but to swallow or choke.

Lucius pulls out as soon as Potter has gulped down most of his come. Just then, his cock spurts again and a trickle of white hits Potter right in the eye. His face scrunches up, and he pulls at the cords that bind him. Lucius graces him with a malicious smile before wiping his wet cock on his cheek. Potter recoils with a dry noise of protest, come dripping from his eyelashes. Lucius's eyes snap to his crotch; his bare genitals are mostly limp, but a twitch of interest runs through Potter's hapless cock. He flinches under Lucius's callous laugh.

"It seems as if you find pleasure in the most unexpected things," Lucius sneers.

Potter's chest heaves; he doesn't quite sob, but turns his head to the side as if Lucius had dealt him a physical blow.

A wand flick, and the ropes loosen around Potter's wrists, although the loop around his neck remains. He shakes them off, leaving coils of turquoise slithering to the ground, then reaches up to wipe his soiled face with quick, furious movements. Lucius catches his attention by putting the tip of his wand to his throat.

"Let's see what else excites you, Potter. Get on your hands and knees."

Lips thinning and with a very rigid back, Potter obeys. Lucius circles him once, then trails the wand over Potter's spine. Potter's buttocks clench.

"Don't fear, boy, I won't mount you right here like an animal." A terrible note of amusement steals into Lucius's voice. "Besides, I'll need a bit of stimulation before we can get around to that."

His wand sparks, and a looped welt appears on Potter's left buttock. Potter lets out a yell of surprise and jerks as a thin trickle of blood rises to the surface. Then he lets out a pained yelp when the magic takes hold of the abused flesh and knits it back together, from livid bruise to fading pink line to pale, flawless skin. Smiling at Potter's grimace, Lucius flicks his wand again and another welt imprints itself on his flesh from Potter's shoulder blade to buttock, curved like a lazy snake. Potter lets out a hiss that is almost Parseltongue at the acidic burn when it begins to heal.

"We call it the Serpent's Claw," Lucius points out, his eyes raking over Potter's body in search for another spot on the canvas. He finds one on Potter's pale thigh and sends the spell to mar it. Its tail-end catches the taut swell of Potter's calf and he tries to pull his leg under himself like a wounded crab. His head is bowed and he bites his fist to stifle his cries.

Lucius's smile deepens as he watches Potter's buttocks tremble. He runs his free hand over his cock in a quick caress, and it stirs to nudge his fingers. He squeezes the head, then lets go to lay another bleeding welt on Potter's back.

"It can come very handy," he muses, as if they were talking calmly over tea. "Just because it doesn't leave any marks…" He steps forward and prods Potter's left arse cheek with the toe of his boot, just where the first blow fell, and Potter screams into his fist. "… doesn't mean that you won't feel it."

A few more stripes with the Serpent's Claw later, Potter is reduced to a moaning bundle on the floor, barely able to lift his head, and Lucius's erection is curving proudly towards his belly.

"Turn over," Lucius orders, then emphasises the command with another prod of his foot when Potter is less than forthcoming.

At last, Potter rolls onto his back, letting out a helpless cry when his skin touches the carpet. The welts are healed on the surface, of course, but still imprinted on the flesh underneath and pressure makes them flare.

Squirming on the ground with his nakedness fully exposed to Lucius's eyes, Potter looks terribly vulnerable. His genitals have shrivelled into a scared little package that looks as if it's trying to crawl up between his legs. Lucius smiles very slowly and sends the Claw to cut across his front from shoulder to hip bone, narrowly missing a nipple. Potter convulses as another cut opens and heals across his belly, then on his thighs. He bites his lips bloody, but he doesn't scream again.

Lucius watches him struggle with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Now… spread your legs."

Horror spills across Potter's face, and it's probably only the wand in Lucius's hand that stops him from curling protectively around his groin instead. Or from bolting altogether.

"You've come here for redemption, haven't you?"

"I don't know," Potter blurts out, forced into honest confusion by the Veritaserum. "But I didn't hurt Draco," he whispers. "Not like that."

Lucius lifts his chin with one thumb, the knuckle of his index finger stroking Potter's bottom lip. "You didn't? Ever?"

A sharp intake of breath, and understanding gleams darkly in Potter's eyes.

"I didn't know," he protests. "I didn't know what the spell would do. I just wanted to protect myself."

"If Severus Snape hadn't been there out of sheer luck, or hadn't known Sectumsempra, Draco would be dead now," Lucius points out, and something about Potter seems to shrink. "Your intentions don't matter to me at all. So – spread your legs."

Potter lets his head fall back with an audible thud, and stares up at the ceiling. Then he squeezes his eyes shut so hard it has to hurt, and opens his legs. Whispers, softly, "Please don't."

He can't see the way Lucius smiles as he crouches down next to his prone body, and runs the wand along the insides of his thighs. Potter trembles like a panicked animal under the touch.

"There is something very seductive about having an enemy so utterly at one's mercy, isn't there, Harry?" Lucius muses, stroking Potter's cheek with his thumb. "You would, of course, know all about that." Potter's eyes fly open, so dark there's almost no green left in his pupils. "Isn't that right?"

Potter's eyes fall shut again, as if the gentle touch was too much to bear. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are, Harry," Lucius says. "And I think I'd like to fuck you now."

He flicks his wand again, but instead of laying a welt across Potter's cock, the dangling cords around the boy's throat twist and snake towards the ground where they take root in the carpet. They don't choke Potter, but bind his neck safely without much room for movement.

Still, Potter's breaths come harsh and rapid as Lucius's hand slides from his face to his chest, tugging in passing at a nipple before stroking along his flank. He doesn't speak, just bites down again on his bruised bottom lip.

"Do you want to make this easier on yourself?" Lucius asks, trailing a finger down his erection. For a moment Potter looks bewildered, then his eyes widen and he nods as vigorously as his restraints allow.

Lucius doesn't even try to hide how much he savours this display of submission. He straddles Potter's chest and settles there comfortably, trailing the swollen head of his cock over Potter's lips before feeding it to him.

This time, Potter tries hard to please, although the awkward angle hampers his efforts. He works Lucius's prick with thorough, wet slurps that sound loud and utterly obscene in the quiet. Lucius doesn't even have to try and fill his throat. Gravity alone makes sure that Potter won't have much of a voice left after this. It's a penetration almost as deep as the one it's preparing for.

Potter coats Lucius's prick with saliva as if his life, or at least his arse, depended on it, until his mouth must be bone-dry and Lucius pulls out slowly. His erection glistens, and a drop of viscous liquid forms at the tip.

"Tell me, Harry… did you have my son face-up when you forced him?"

Potter squirms. "No!" he protests after a painful swallow, in a voice hoarse from exertion. "It'd be way too..."

"Intimate?" Lucius suggests, "Invasive?"

Potter's mouth opens in wary resignation, closes. Finally, he spits out, "Both."

"Good," Lucius murmurs. "I wouldn't want for you to get too comfortable."

He slides off Potter's body, watching the drop of pre-come fall onto the boy's stomach. In one fluid move, he pushes Potter's legs apart and shifts to kneel between them. The soft hairs on Potter's legs rise when he feels Lucius's hands on his thighs, spreading them wider, then pushing back. Curling a finger under Potter's cock and scrotum, Lucius lifts them up to reveal the clenched anal opening beneath. Even at the height of arousal, Lucius's pale cock is only tinged with pink like precious marble, a distinct contrast to the red, webbed skin of his scrotum. Potter, on the other hand, is all shades of brown: from dark nipples to slender, reddish prick to the darker hue of balls half obscured by black fuzz.

Everything about Potter seems to tense as Lucius touches his hole, not probing, only laying claim before positioning his cock. Potter's hands come up as if to push him away, and Lucius reaches for his wand again. More blue cords shoot from the carpet; they whip upward and tangle themselves around Potter's wrists, dragging them down and binding him spread-eagled to the floor. He cries out and struggles as Lucius opens his legs wider, shoving them aside like so many useless appendages to push the wet head of his cock against Potter's hole.

"Fight me or not," Lucius whispers to his frantic victim. "It makes no difference to me, and will only determine how much you'll suffer."

Potter's back arches as Lucius sinks into him, visible although he's almost folded in half. His mouth gapes open, but no sound emerges. He strains against the cords binding him to the floor, not forceful, just as if he's helpless to do anything else.

Lucius holds his hips in a tight grip even though they are already joined as closely as can be. Almost reluctantly, he takes one hand off the body beneath him, and curls it lightly around Potter's cock, which is ducked into the shelter of his inner thigh. Still buried deep in the boy's arse, Lucius pulls it away from the sweaty flesh of Potter's thigh and flicks a nail across the tip.

Potter lets out a little breathless gasp of protest or delight, not that Lucius would care either way. Instead, he wraps a large hand firmly around Potter's erection, squeezing the length in an insidious rhythm while teasing the head with thumb and index finger, sweetly coaxing it from its foreskin. Holding himself absolutely still inside Potter so as not to distract him from the sensation, Lucius works Potter's fattening prick until it rises up on its own volition. The play of emotions on Potter's face is priceless – the pain of being penetrated with vigour in a cramped position, the sudden, shocking pleasure of Lucius's touch and, above all, sheer confusion.

Lucius plays with Potter's cock until pre-come leaks in sticky drops from the gaping slit, then his fingers still. He weighs and appraises Potter's prick in his palm for another long moment before slipping a thin, golden ring around it and securing it at the base, where it tightens itself in a way that squeezes the breath right out of Potter's lungs. He cries out softly, mournfully, his moment of hazy pleasure brought low by the ring's bite.

Just then Lucius surges forward again, burying himself back to the hilt inside Potter, and something about the depth, or the angle, wrings another hoarse cry from the Gryffindor. The next time Lucius stabs forward, Potter rolls his hips to catch the thrust, mouth and eyes wide open and grasping for the pleasure Lucius's cock has promised inside him, and which the ring denies.

Lucius settles into a brutal rhythm, fucking Potter into the carpet until the cords cut into his wrists and neck. And still Potter arches up to meet the thrusts, frantically trying to rub his leaking prick against any part of Lucius's body he can reach. His efforts leave a few smears of pre-come on Lucius's stomach, but don't bring Potter any closer to release. His cock has turned a furious dark red, almost hiding the subtle golden glimmer at the base.

His hole, half-obscured by Lucius's pumping hips, is just as red, stretched and raw and nearly as painful to look at as his cock. Lucius keeps up his harsh, methodical thrusts until a low growl escapes his mouth and he surges forward, so deep that it makes Potter howl, far gone as he is. Release distorts Lucius's face into an inhuman mask as he empties himself deep inside the younger man, nails clawing into Potter's flesh.

With his hair tangling in a wild aureole around his shoulders, Lucius almost collapses on Potter's body. He elicits a scream from the boy as the brocade stitching at the hem of his shirt scratches over Potter's inflamed cock, clinging to the sticky flesh for a moment before Lucius lifts himself away.

There is a streak of blood when Lucius pulls out of Potter; his own cock looks chafed from exertion and considerably more pink than before it entered Potter's too-tight arse. Unlike Potter, however, whose hips are still moving in an ancient rhythm, Lucius's face radiates satisfaction.

"What have you done to me?" Potter whimpers, only to writhe madly when Lucius wraps his fingers around his tortured prick once more. The turquoise cords bite down around Potter's throat and he falls back with a strangled wheeze.

"Nothing but to concentrate and heighten your body's responses a little," Lucius replies. "I am told it works to the most devastating effect on those who exact no control over their own desires."

"Please!" Potter begs, almost incoherently pushing his prick deeper into Lucius's palm. His eyes are wet.

"No." Very gently, Lucius lets go of Potter's erection. It bobs up and smacks against Potter's belly as if to hammer his need home. "This isn't about your pleasure – it's about retribution."

He reaches down to where a strand of hair is plastered across Potter's cheek and has fallen into his mouth, and brushes it back. "Redemption, perhaps, although that isn't for me to decide. That, I shall leave to my son."

Summoning the wand he'd dropped when he started to fuck Potter, Lucius dispels the cords around Potter's wrists and throat. Almost instantly, Potter's hand creeps to his prick, still red and dripping, and to the merciless obstruction at its base.

"It will come off as soon as you manage to wipe arousal off your mind," Lucius points out. He stands upright, proud and naked and without a trace of shame at the fluids that smear his cock and thighs. "And me."

A despairing sob escapes Potter; he clutches his prick with both hands in an almost crushing grip. Pre-come trickles from the slit and over his fingers. It doesn't bring him to completion, nor does it lessen the agony of his arousal. Shaking all over, Potter somehow forces himself to let go. Very slowly, his hips still, and his cock, though still agonisingly red, deflates a little. As soon as he can bear it, he rolls to the side and curls himself around his aching groin.

Lucius kneels beside Potter, shifting closer until the dark head rests on his thigh, and almost tenderly strokes his sweat-soaked shoulder. Potter is still trembling; his eyes are closed, his lids wet smudges of black in a flushed face. Lucius's hand closes around his shoulder in mid-stroke.

"If you want to get out, Potter, grab your robe and run. Now. I'll only give you this one chance."

A bone-deep shudder runs through Potter. He lies hugging his knees with crushing force for a moment, burying his face against them.

Then he scoots away, crawling to his robe where the vanishing spell has left it strewn haphazardly over the back of a chair, and pulls it around himself like a ravished maiden. He looks as if it takes all his residual strength just to pull himself up to his feet without collapsing in a screaming heap. His face gives him away, however: an unguarded grimace of pain that meets Lucius's scornful eyes.

His eyes flick to the corner where his wand lies, half obscured by carpet tassels, then back to Lucius. Lucius shakes his head, index finger tapping out a not so subtle warning against the tip of his own wand.

Potter runs then, or hobbles rather; at the door in a flash, and out on bare feet, still clutching the robe tightly. It should feel gratifying to see him so completely broken, reduced to feral instinct and need, to watch him run from the Manor barefoot with only a robe obscuring the red swell of his erection. Somehow, however, it isn't quite enough.

In the breakfast room, Lucius combs his hair back from his face with spread fingers as he contemplates the door which is still open in a Potter-sized gap.

***

You calmly end the spell on the magical mirror and close the curtains to hide it from curious eyes before leaving the room.

When you arrive downstairs, Lucius has long laced up his trousers and redone his robe. You incline your head, then walk up and kiss him on the lips. It is a thorough, firm kiss, and it leaves the taste of Potter's skin and musk in your mouth – salty, like over-ripe olives.

"Thank you for a rather stimulating display, father."

You still feel the pressure in your own groin, stoked to a delicate ache by the twin of the small gold ring that ornaments Potter's poor, tortured erection. You have better taste than to pleasure yourself to the sight of your father fucking your former nemesis, but it doesn't mean you won't savour the images later, in private.

"I'm glad you approve, Draco," Lucius says dryly and saunters over to the sherry decanter on the walnut drinks cabinet.

"How could I not?" you inquire. "It was for my benefit, after all."

"Indeed." Lucius pours two finger's breadth of sherry and offers it to you. "Malfoy honour has been served. Are you feeling sufficiently avenged?"

You take the glass while Lucius prepares a fresh drink for himself. "Quite. You may have scarred him for good, though."

Lucius's eyes narrow. "I doubt it; oh, he will dread me in the future, but then I have no interest in him apart from an afternoon's diversion and some long-overdue vengeance. You, however…"

You take a small sip, enjoying the dry taste spilling onto your tongue. Over the rim of the tulip-shaped glass, you raise an eyebrow at your father, daring him to go on.

"I won't pretend I approve of the way you went about ensnaring Potter," he stresses, surly as if the sherry had turned out too sweet for his taste. "It isn't becoming a Malfoy to offer himself for another's pleasure. However…"

You incline your head expectantly, trying not to let your smirk become too obvious.

"However," he repeats pointedly, "I will concede that Potter has some pedestrian appeal after all, and if you can work on his guilt, he should be as malleable as warm clay in your hands. Which might become very useful if you play your cards right."

You smile and take another sip, as familiar and homely as the lecture. The sherry prickles deliciously in your throat and you shift your hips a little in order to savour the snug constriction at the base of your cock. It goes quite well with the image of Harry Potter writhing in mindless, hopeless ecstasy at _your_ touch.

"Believe me, father…" You put a hand on his, erasing the tiny frown on his forehead and recalling that very palm wrapped around Potter's cock. "I have _every_ intention of playing my cards right."

You summon Potter's holly wand that lies, still discarded, in the corner where Lucius has flung it – it's a tribute to Potter's shattered state that he chose to flee without it. The wand is worn and smooth in your hand, and radiates a palpable feel of Potter: power, determination, and, underneath it all, a delicious touch of vulnerability. For an instant, you wonder if Potter felt anything like this when he stole yours.

"And if all else fails…" You grin at Lucius and twirl the wand between your fingers, "this, if nothing else, will force him come back."

  
 _~ finis ~_

**Author's Note:**

> written in December 2008


End file.
